


3.3

by bonebo



Series: Kinktober 18 [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blind Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Kinda, Knifeplay, M/M, Sensory Deprivation, it's claws
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 13:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16198496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: “You used to let me play with you any way I wanted,” Reaper growls, casually circling around Jack and watching his head turn as he tracks the sound of heavy boots on concrete. The building that they’ve commandeered to play these dangerous games is long abandoned, but the man on his knees doesn’t need to know that--and having woken up here with his hands tied behind his back and his visor gone, milky blue eyes darting around blankly in their sockets, he has no way to tell.





	3.3

“You used to let me play with you any way I wanted,” Reaper growls, casually circling around Jack and watching his head turn as he tracks the sound of heavy boots on concrete. The building that they’ve commandeered to play these dangerous games is long abandoned, but the man on his knees doesn’t need to know that--and having woken up here with his hands tied behind his back and his visor gone, milky blue eyes darting around blankly in their sockets, he has no way to tell. 

“You used to be such a good boy for me, Jackie. Used to turn to putty when I got my hands on you--”

“I didn’t used to be blind,” Jack snaps, and the dead man inside Reaper has known this ghost for long enough to be able to tell that the anguish in his voice, the grief, is real. It shouldn’t lance into him the way it does, sticking like a thorn in the place his heart used to be; but he’s had a Jack-shaped weak spot ever since the SEP, and if Switzerland couldn’t harden it then he doubts anything will.

He steps closer.

“You’ve gotten sour in your old age, boy scout.” Reaper lays his hands on Jack’s shoulders and curls his fingers in, watching the razor-sharp claws easily sink through the jacket--and he only stops when he feels the man beneath him flinch. “Maybe you need a little discipline to clear your head, hm?”

He pulls his claws free, pleased to see them come away tipped in crimson. He lets one drag across the back of Jack’s neck as he circles back around to his front, watching the shiver that races down his spine and the twitch in his jaw and taking that as enough of an answer to proceed.

“I want you to focus,” Reaper murmurs, trailing the same claw over the pounding pulse in Jack’s throat and up, over the curve of his cheek, following the dusty pink scars gouged into his skin. “So you don’t have your eyes right now...that just means every other sense is that much more heightened, doesn’t it?”

Jack grumbles something that might be an affirmation.

“Then pay attention.”

Reaper waits to see if Jack has any quips to throw his way, ready to keep the exchange going--but all the other man does is spread his thighs and sink onto his haunches a little more, some of the tension bleeding out of his body as he turns his head to the side. There’s the faintest hint of a blush starting to dust his strong cheekbones.

Reaper doesn’t comment on it, instead choosing to file that sight away with some sense of satisfaction at knowing this display is for him and him alone--not even Jack can see what he can right now. 

He sets his claws against Jack’s chest, through the unzipped jacket--digs them into the bare skin there, slowly drags them down the ridges of muscle in Jack’s abdomen softened by age--and the sight of the thin, angry red lines that rise up in the wake of his claws is just a tease, a hint of what is to come.

Reaper can’t wait to make this ghost bleed.


End file.
